


Come Back

by MothMeetsFlame



Series: Post-Hell Regression [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Little!Dean, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Age Play, Post-Hell, Post-Season/Series 3 AU, Psychological Trauma, Schmoop, Trauma, caregiver!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-06 17:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11041311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MothMeetsFlame/pseuds/MothMeetsFlame
Summary: Sam finally figures out a way to get Dean out of hell. Unfortunately, the brother he gets isn't the one he remembers. Dean’s twitchy, nervous, distrustful of everything and everyone. The memories of torture overshadow everything else until all the things that made DeanDeanare gone. All Sam can think of to do is take care of him. Maybe if Dean feels safe enough, he’ll come back. Sam knows just the way to make that happen.





	1. Raising Dean

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all aren't expecting smut because this here is a _non-sexual_ infantilism fic. It's not my usual style seeing as it's a Gen fic, I don't normally write infantilism, and it's longer than most of the stuff I've written. 
> 
> Still... I've been in the mood for AdultBaby!Dean, but there are only so many fics out there, and I've read them all. Figured I'd have to try my hand at it if I wanted something new. 
> 
> The entire fic has already been written. I just need to revise, edit, and post. Updates will come every 3-7 days until it's complete to give me some time to fine tune. This is really just a base fic to give me a back story for some Little!Dean timestamps, so if y'all want more Little!Dean, subscribe to the _Post-Hell Regression_ series. 
> 
> I tried to keep the characters as in-line as I could, but obviously since age play isn't canon, there are going to be some changes. Just FYI. 
> 
>  
> 
> WARNING: Spoilers up to the season 3 finale of _Supernatural_.
> 
> UPDATE: Changing the rating to T for language and references to Dean's time in Hell.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam raises Dean.

It takes him four months. Four _damn months_. Four months of too worried to sleep, millimeters from going off the deep end, fighting to save his quite literally damned brother, before he finally finds something.

It’s not much. It’s a page in a grimoire that he really shouldn’t have in his possession. The coven—if it really could have been called that with how quickly their numbers decreased once Sam caught their scent—had been around for nearly eight hundred years. It only took a couple months to kill them off though.

The time spent hunting didn’t seem too long. The translating seemed much longer even though it only took him two weeks to translate the damn thing.

Actually, it took him one week to translate. The first week had been spent trying to puzzle out what language it was actually written in. After that, it was mostly a question of morality. When your only hope comes in the form of a stolen ancient grimoire that’s been bound with human skin, it’s time to take a good long look at the consequences of even _holding_ it, let alone using it.

But it’s Dean. And that’s all the convincing Sam really needs.

Almost four months exactly from the time Sam watched the hounds drag his brother to hell, Sam copies the sigils onto their respective stones with the blood of the only demon that would answer his calls anymore, and places them in a circle around the clearing before he begins the rite.

Clouds converge overhead, the friction causing a lightning storm worthy of Frankenstein. It’s a fitting comparison. Sam _is_ attempting to raise the dead, after all.

Dean’s body twitches.

It’s not much. Just a finger. But Sam’s looking at Dean so closely now that he notices right away. His brother still isn’t breathing, but he looks… more _alive_ somehow, like Dean’s soul is here and his body is responding to the proximity.

Or maybe Sam’s just making it all up, seeing something he wants to see because he needs to see it.

He continues speaking, the words echoing in the wind as the storm picks up. He hadn’t prepared for this, for an actual storm. If it rains, the sigils won’t last more than a minute and the whole rite will be a lost cause.

Sam nearly curses, but stops himself just in time, instead continuing on with the rite as he mentally chastises himself for not preparing for something as simple as this. He’s opening a doorway to hell. A storm really is to be expected. Cattle mutilations, as well.

He’s not thinking about that, though. A dozen dairy farms can sink into the atlantic for all Sam cares, as long as Dean comes back like he’s supposed to.

Another five minutes, and Sam finishes the last line.

He closes the book, swears he’s going to burn it as soon as he has his brother back, slips it into its casing—can’t have a powerful grimoire like that out in the open after all—and watches as closely as he can.

Dean’s hair flutters in the breeze, and Sam wonders when Dean’s chest started moving and whether it’s the wind picking up or possibly his imagination. But then Dean’s hands clench, and his face pinches, and his mouth opens in a scream that Sam can barely hear over the roar of the wind.

“Dean?”

In an instant, Dean goes from flat on his back to crouched low on the ground, hands curled into claws at his side.

“It’s me,” he says. “It’s Sam.”

Dean bares his teeth, reaches down into his boot for a knife that should be hidden there, but he comes up empty.

“Dean? Come on. Snap out of it. You’re back. I swear, you’re back. This isn’t Hell.”

It takes Dean a minute, but recognition finally sparks. “Sam?”

Sam breathes a sigh of relief. “Yeah.”

“Sam…”

Dean sounds like he’s trying the name out to see how it tastes. It sets Sam’s teeth on edge, just enough for him to wonder whether the grimoire did its job and brought back his brother like he wanted it to.

“Sammy,” Dean remembers. His mouth pulls up into a half smile.

Sam walks up to Dean, arms open to pull his brother into a hug, but as soon as he’s within grabbing distance, Dean has his hand around Sam’s neck, pushing him up against the nearest tree, and Sam knows that it’s going to be a difficult journey getting his brother back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WILL WORK FOR KUDOS AND COMMENTS *holds out a hat* Alms for the poor. Alllllms for the poor.


	2. The Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can't do it anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this now because I go on vacation tomorrow, which means I probably won't be posting anything again until I return next Wednesday.

Dean’s twitchy, nervous, distrustful. Well, he was always twitchy, nervous, and distrustful. It’s not really all that recent of a disposition. But this time, it’s more than scanning for exits anytime they enter a room and sizing up the people to see who the biggest threat would be if something went south. Now, everyone is a threat, Sam included. At least at first.

It take a long time, weeks actually, before Dean begins to let his guard down around Sam. Everyone else remains the enemy, as far as Dean is concerned. Sam can see it. He watches Dean sit with his back to the corner of every restaurant they eat at, watches him do more than simply scan for weapons. He reaches for his knife whenever anyone comes within ten feet, ready to gut them from head to toe.

He still shoots a flirty smirk at the waitress, still banters with Sam from the driver’s seat, still chews with his mouth open and sings obnoxiously loud in the car. But Sam can see just how tightly his brother is wound, how quick he is to lash out at anything that comes too close.

They pull back on hunting a bit, not enough for them to go cold turkey, but they take on a couple of simple spectres that only need a quick hex bag to disperse before they're off again to find another. They’re hardly worth the challenge, and it's not like they're really all that dangerous, but it helps them fall into a routine of sorts.

Wake up. Check their email. Find a hunt. Get ingredients. Drive. Meet with victims. Bless the house. Plant hex bags. Crash at a motel. Repeat.

But it's hard, harder than Sam thought it would be, to have his brother back. He knew Hell would have an impact on Dean—it was _Hell_ —but he kind of hoped that Dean would be able to bury it like he buried everything else: stick it beneath a shell of bravado and a fifth of whisky and ignore the flashbacks and night terrors until they go away.

Dean’s trying, he really is. But trying and succeeding are two different things, and the latter is something Dean’s not so great at, especially at night.

Fuck, the nightmares…

They're more than that. It's like the demons aren't leaving him alone, like they've found a crack in Dean’s shields while he's sleeping and they take the opportunity to slip in and wreak havoc on his mind, flaying him alive every night while he screams and screams and screams. Sam’s never heard screams like that, not even when the hounds took him.

Sam’s about as well-rested as Dean is these days. They’re both plagued with dark circles under their eyes from trying to fight the darkness. Sam thinks that if they go nocturnal, it’ll be easier. Something about the sun used to keep a lot of his own nightmares away, but it doesn’t seem to work. Sam thinks he knows why, at least in part.

It’s like every cell in Dean’s body is on fire, even when he's awake enough to know that he's not there anymore. Opening a portal and pulling out Dean’s soul wasn’t enough to keep him out of Hell. He’s only half living at this point, a shadow of his former self.

Sam can’t begrudge him anything since he’s never been to Hell, and he’s not fairing so well either. After the struggle of dodging Dean’s blade——until a half-dozen stitches and a bit of common sense puts all of their weapons across the room before bedtime, but Dean’s still got his fists—Sam is too wired to do anything but watch his brother fall to pieces trying to piece himself together again.

At first, he thinks maybe Dean just needs a little R&R. They take a trek out to a cabin in the woods, a safe house they haven't used since they were kids. It takes a couple hours to clean out the place, but then they're hitting the local tavern, and Sam’s playing wingman.

Except, it's looking more like Dean’s drinking to forget instead of drinking to have a good time. Back to the corner walls, Dean accepts drink after drink, only paying attention to people in his immediate vicinity to size ‘em up before dismissing them as nonthreats.

“Hey, sexy. Never seen you here before.”

She's just Dean’s type: _loose_.

“Not interested,” he grits out.

Sam's brow nearly shoots into his hairline. _Not interested_. Dean’s _never_ been not interested. If anything, he's always been _too_ interested.

But the shots keep coming, and by the time last call comes around, Dean’s plowed enough to collapse on standing and Sam has to drag him to the impala and back into the cabin, making sure to chuck Dean’s boots before claiming the room next door.

Dean’s out like a light before his head hit the pillow. Hell, Sam’s sure Dean was out before they even left the bar. But alcohol can only help so much.

Sam goes from horizontal to vertical in half a second when he hears Dean scream, the sound echoing through the wilderness. Sam spends the next ten minutes dodging punches, and the next four hours after that kicking Dean’s ass at poker before the sun’s breaking through the trees to signal the start of another sleepless day after another sleepless night.

They give up on poker at daybreak, too exhausted to see the cards or read each other like they should. Sam lounges on the couch, Dean taking the reclining chair and the remote, much to Sam’s chagrin. It’s not that he has the dying need to watch something special. Anything is alright by him as long as it isn’t X rated.

It’s just that Sam can't seem to focus on it at all when Dean’s in charge. He doesn’t let a minute pass before he flicks the switch and changes the channel, usually with a flinch or a grimace that Sam’s sure means that Dean’s time in Hell is still at the forefront of his mind.

_...and a terrible heat wave making it's way north…_

Click.

_...having a hell of a good…_

Click.

_...injuries were severe, but I'm sure he'll…_

Click.

_...out hunting a pack of wild boars…_

Click.

_...torn to shreds…_

Click.

_...screaming…_

With a final click of the remote, the screen goes black.

Sam waits for Dean to make the first move—chuck the remote, grab a beer, make a joke, _something_ —but Dean doesn't move an inch. He just sits in the chair, remote held loose against his jean-clad thigh, and stares at the blank screen as if he were immersed in his favorite show, even though Sam is well aware that Dean can no longer stomach the abstract violence in _Doctor Sexy, M.D._ any better than he could look at a dog without having a flashback.

But something is definitely wrong. Sam doesn't like the look he sees. One part misery, one part apathy, and two parts fear, and it's quite possibly the worst expression he's ever seen on his brother’s face.

“Dean? Let's get out of here, grab a bite to eat.”

He’s met with silence.

Sam grabs his boots and slips them on his feet, takes his brother’s and tosses them into Dean’s legs, trying to pull him out of his head.

“Put your boots on and let's go.”

Dean looks down at the boots, looks up at Sam. His eyes glaze over, and if Sam didn't know any better, he'd be sure that Dean had taken something because the way Dean is looking at him doesn't even show a hint of recognition.

Just as Sam goes to try again, though, a spark of awareness comes into Dean’s eyes.

“Sammy?” The way he says it, Dean sounds a mile past gone, like he isn't even sure the man in front of him is really Sam.

“Yeah, Dean,” he confirms.

“I can't do this, Sammy.”

Sam doesn't need to ask. He knows. He's known for a while, but he's pushed it down and smothered it in _hope_ of all things. And now Dean’s bringing that fear right to the surface.

“I can't do this,” he says again.

And then his eyes glaze over, and nothing Sam does can bring him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter until baby!Dean, which I will post by next Wednesday. 
> 
>  
> 
> What's that? You want to hit that kudos button? Just for me?? *is flattered* *blushes* Why, thank you. _And_ you want to comment? Oh, you know just the way to a boy's heart  <3


	3. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's gone. Sam figures things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned with another chapter for you, wonderful readers. Let's hope it was worth the wait.

It's taken a bit, but Sam’s figured out the basics. If he puts the food directly into Dean's mouth, he'll chew and swallow. Same goes for liquids. Actually, the same goes for anything. Sam tried a piece of cardboard, and Dean started working it with his teeth before Sam pried it out of his mouth and realized that his brother was well and truly out of it.

At least he’ll eat. That’s one thing Sam doesn't have to worry about.

The rest, though…

Dean is sure to have a conniption when he wakes up. Not that Sam minds. Even if it means his brother is a pain in his ass, Sam’s more than willing to take that trade, but nothing he tries seems to work. Favorite foods, favorite music, cajoling, bribing, yelling, waiting. No matter what he tries, Dean’s gone to the world.

And worse than that, Sam still hasn't figured out how to solve the _major_ issue. Sure, Dean’s checked out. Sam gets it. He really does. The memories are too much for Dean to deal with right now. People were never meant to remember the tortures that his brother suffered in the pit, so it's no wonder he’s zoned out like he has. Sam doesn't mind giving his brother time to let his mind sort through everything.

But Sam would be lying if he said he's not struggling to care for Dean this way. It seems like every time he solves a problem, another rises to the surface. Simple directives seem to work, especially if all Dean has to do is walk. He’ll stay where Sam puts him, walk in a straight line, or follow behind Sam like a ducking following his mama, but anything more complex has Dean staring off into space without even a twitch to show he's heard. If he puts a burger down in front of Dean it'll stay untouched for hours, but he'll chew if Sam feeds it to him. He’ll step into the shower if Sam guides him into it, but even lifting his arms is too much for Dean. Same goes for dressing and undressing.

Before Dean’s break, Sam wasn't aware of just how many times a day someone was expected to remove their clothing. He's well aware now.

Which brings him to the latest issue he doesn't have a way to solve.

Sam crinkles his nose.

“Up, Dean,” Sam orders.

Dean ignores him until Sam guides him with a few touches to his back and arms.

“Come on.”

Sam takes his hand and Dean follows him to the bathroom. Sam undoes his brother’s jeans and pulls them down to rest around Dean's calves.

“Sit.”

With a touch to his shoulder, Dean sits on the toilet as ordered.

Sam removes Dean’s boots and soiled trousers, bundling them up in a heavy duty garbage bag with four other pairs of still-wet jeans that he’ll need to triple wash to take the smell out.

Sitting on the toilet doesn't seem to do anything for Dean. He doesn't take the time to relieve himself, and Sam knows that there’s just going to be another repeat if something isn't done soon. For now, though, Sam runs a washcloth under lukewarm water and wipes the residual urine off of Dean’s crotch and thighs.

He contemplates fussing with another pair of jeans and decides on sweatpants instead. When Dean comes to, he's going to _kill_ Sam for taking him out like this in public, but wet sweats are much easier to handle than wet jeans, and Sam’s sold.

He dresses Dean quickly, guides him back to his bed, fits his boots on. He picks up all of the stuff they have strewn about the room and tosses everything in the trunk of the Impala. And then he guides Dean into the passenger seat, buckles him in, checks out, and hits the gas petal.

As much as Sam hates to admit it, if old Dean had to choose between wearing a diaper and messing himself on the bench seat of the Impala, he's sure old Dean would’ve chosen the diaper. If there's one thing Dean really _will_ kill him about, it's letting him soil his baby, so they make a quick stop to stock up on adult diapers before they're on their way to the only place Sam can think of to go.

The trip takes much longer than it was supposed to. After traipsing about the country his whole life, Sam knows pretty much every back road to anywhere, but making the drive with Dean as he is makes the trip much longer.

Bobby greets them on the porch, wrapping Sam in a hug before pulling Dean in as well. Dean remains limp in Bobby’s hold, prompting a curious look that Sam really wishes he didn’t have to explain.

“You were s’posed to be here three days ago,” Bobby says, quickly linking their tardiness and Dean’s blank expression. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story,” Sam hedges.

Bobby grunts and invites them inside. Sam guides Dean into the living room and sits him on the couch before going back out for their stuff. They really need to use the washing machine, and Dean’s due for a change—was actually due about an hour ago, but Sam was loath to stop—but Sam’s too relieved that they made it to worry about any of that.

After tossing the duffles in the guest room, Sam makes his way back down to the living room where he catches Bobby sitting on the table in front of Dean, trying to get him to react.

“Sure it’s him?” Bobby asks. “Coulda raised somthin’ else, animated the body.”

“It’s him.”

That, Sam is sure about.

“He was fine for a few weeks, but last week, he just seemed to… break down.” He doesn’t know another way to explain it.

Bobby takes it at face value and leaves well enough alone. “You hungry? There’s chili in the fridge.”

Sam nods his thanks, but doesn’t go to make himself a bowl like he normally would have. Dean should eat also, he knows, but there are more important things that need to be handled at the moment.

“Actually,” Sam begins, “I have to, uh, take Dean to the bathroom.”

“Huh.” Bobby seems contemplative, and Sam knows he’s going to have to answer more than a few questions after he puts Dean down for the night.

He guides his brother into the bathroom and quickly changes the soiled diaper.

“Uh, Bobby?” he calls.

“ _Yeah?_ ” The voice is muffled through the door.

“You know how to get rid of diaper rash?”

“ _The hell would I know that for?_ ”

Sam curses his luck and makes a mental note to do some research on proper diapering. Last thing he wants to deal with is a rash on his brother’s junk.

“Here we go,” Sam says. He slides the sweatpants over the diaper and pats Dean’s bottom instinctively. “All done.”

He gives Dean a smile, but receives no response. Sam tries to stifle the disappointment that rises. He leads Dean to the bedroom, quickly tucks him in, and makes his way back down to Bobby. It’s still a bit early for bed, but Dean’s vacant stare can be more than a little unnerving at times and Dean definitely needs the extra sleep, so it’s really a win-win.

Sam sits on the couch, and Bobby hands him a beer. “Dean?” he prompts.

“Dean…”

“Why don’t ya start at the beginning?”

Sam nods and starts with the grimoire, explaining the how he hunted down the witches and gathered the ingredients, how he had to go to just the right spot at just the right time to steal his brother’s soul from Hell.

“Where’d you get the blood? Don’t seem like a lot of demons’d volunteer to help ya.”

Sam grimaces. “Ruby,” he explains. “She was the only one that would come when I called.”

Bobby nods and continues. “And what about others? Can’t believe that bastard’d held Dean’s contract was too glad to see ‘im up and disappear.”

“Part of the spell,” Sam explains. He goes into a little more detail, but Bobby just waves the explanation off and lets Sam continue the story.

“And then he said he just couldn’t do it anymore and… well… _this_.” Sam combs a hand through his hair.

They both sit in silence for a while, contemplating possible options.

“You know what you’re gonna do?”

Sam shakes his head. “Maybe a spell or something? Even if I can’t find one to break Dean out of whatever trance he’s stuck in, there’s probably something that’ll let me inside his head, maybe figure something out that way.”

“Not sure that’s such a good idea.”

Sam purses his lips, but he doesn’t argue because Bobby’s right. There are too many ways it can go wrong. It could keep Dean like this forever. It could make it worse. It could turn his brother into a living vegetable. It could bring Sam down with him. It could kill Dean. It could kill Sam. It could kill them both.

There aren’t enough certainties, and that closes down an entire avenue of options.

“I know,” Sam finally breathes. “I know. But I don’t know what else to do besides take care of him and hope that he comes out of it on his own.”

Bobby shrugs. “Might be what you gotta do.”

Sam snorts out a laugh, amused despite the seriousness of the situation. “You know, I’d always wanted to settle down eventually.”

He shakes his head and combs his hand back through his hair.

“Didn’t imagine it happening like this though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* kuuudosss *shuffle* *shuffle* commmmentsss *shuffle*


	4. A New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam takes Bobby's advice and tries his best to take care of Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters for y'all today.

It takes some time.

Not as much time as it took to get Dean out of Hell, but it’s still more time than Sam wishes it had taken to get everything settled. And a few more favors than he would have liked, as well.

Still, he can’t say that it isn’t worth it.

“Mr. Wesson?”

Sam turns and smiles, shakes hands with the smartly-dressed woman he’s been in contact with for the better part of the last two months.

“Congratulations,” she says. “Just one more thing for you to sign and I’ll be on my way.”

Sam scrawls his signature at the bottom of the page and accepts the keys she hands him. With a quick _pleasure doing business with you_ , she’s off, and Sam is dumbfounded at just how quickly circumstances can change with a few forged documents and connections with someone at the DMV who just so happens to owe you for saving their life.

Sam unlocks the door and goes inside, presses his back against a wall and sits down, arms resting on his knees. After the thousand hurdles Sam’s had to jump over to get this far, there are still a few big ticket items on his to-do list that have yet to be checked off.

Securing his job is number one on that list, but that has several smaller parts to it that need to be completed first. Namely, nailing the final interview. He made it through the group interview by the skin of his teeth, only slightly more versed in the things that go bump in the night compared to the younger prospective writers for _Spirits, Seances & Sundry_. It’s really only because of Dean’s insistence that he rejoin the wonderful world of Hunting that he has an opportunity like this at all. Who knew he’d be able to put his life of hunting to good use? Friday, though, will decide whether he’ll be able to work from home and stay with Dean, or whether he's going to need Bobby during the day since he'll be forced to work a regular nine to five like most people. Not everyone has the chops (or the luck) to make it as a ghost writer.

The irony isn't lost on him.

Next on the list is furnishing the house. He’s never had to furnish a house before, but after taking stock of what Bobby keeps in his, even just sticking to the basics, Sam knows he’s looking at more money than he’s needed in quite a while. And with what plans he has for Dean, Sam knows he’s going to need even more.

Even though Sam wishes it hadn’t taken so long, the last two months haven’t been a complete waste. Sam’s got Dean on a schedule, has become much better at making sure his brother is well taken care of, and after a few hiccups that were really to be expected with how suddenly Sam was thrust into caretaker mode, Sam is confident that he can continue to care for his brother for the long haul, or at least until Dean feels safe enough to come out of his mind.

Because according to all of the research he could possibly find—which admittedly isn’t much—Sam’s main goal if he wants Dean to come out of this in one piece is to prove to Dean that he’s _safe_. And Sam’s been going around in circles trying to figure out what the hell that even means. The last two months, with Dean more vulnerable than he’s been since infancy, should have already proven to him that he’s safe. Sam’s sure, though, that it hasn’t been enough.

No, he _knows_ that it hasn’t been enough. More than that, he’s starting to think that maybe Bobby’s right. Dean doesn’t really know what safe _is_. His earliest memory is watching his childhood home go up in flames, baby brother wrapped up tight in his arms, and from then on, he’s lived the life of a soldier on the front lines of a war no one even really knew they were fighting. He’s had to live with the knowledge that the boogeyman in his closet could legitimately kill him if he weren’t prepared.

Safety, in light of that, was really just a thing for fairy tales to Dean.

That is, if you ignored the few fairy tale characters that had tried to kill them over the years.

 _Safety_.

Sam scoffs.

It’s nothing more than an illusion. But, according to Bobby, it’s an illusion they may be able to replicate if Sam’s willing to step up.

But that’s where things get complicated.

_How’s it complicated? You already got the boy in diapers for christsakes. Ain’t that big a leap._

And really it isn’t. Dean _is_ already in diapers. He already needs to be spoon fed, bathed, watched, and cared for. It isn’t that big of a leap at all.

But it really, really is.

All those things are just par for the course. Dean needs help, so Sam helps him. It’s as simple as that. What Bobby’s suggesting, though, is a whole new ballgame with all new equipment. Like going from baseball to cricket. Sure, they’re similar. And yet, they're two completely different games.

This wouldn’t be helping Dean while he’s stuck on autopilot. This is deliberately _regressing him_. This is turning him into a child, an _infant_. This is bottle feedings and onesies and bathtime and storytime and bedtime in a crib instead of a bed.

_That boy ain’t been safe since he was in diapers. And now he’s in diapers again. Seems like a sign to me._

It made an alarming amount of sense to Sam. Even so…

 _Dean’s gonna hate it_ , Sam argued.

_Dean don’t got a choice. ‘Bout any of it. His mind’s broke like an egg on the sidewalk. An’ this may be the only way to get ‘im all sorted. He’s gonna hate it. But I think he needs it._

And Sam couldn’t argue with that.

He _still_ can’t argue with that, and that’s why he’s here.

He stands up, leaning against the wall for a minute while pins and needles rush through his legs. He shakes them out and makes his way upstairs. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms. Sam claims the master as his own, but goes back and forth between the other two before deciding to put Dean in the one closest to his.

As soon as Dean is back, though, he can choose for himself.

At least that’s what Sam tells himself.

The truth is, though, that even with Dean in the house, safe and cared for, Sam’s not sure Dean will ever come back. It takes some time to get everything for the new house, and it takes even longer to set everything up. The new crib is a nightmare to put together, but he and Bobby take care of it in a single afternoon.

After that, it’s really just a matter of actually slipping into caregiver mode.

Even though Sam is fully committed—he’s already bought everything for it after all, so there really is no turning back now—treating Dean differently is something he struggles with. A few of the sites he’s looked at suggest nicknames or endearments to make the transition easier. Sam’s sure that it means it’s supposed to make the transition easier for the Little, not the caregiver, but he tries it anyway.

 

 

 

“Ready for a bath…. Dean-o?” Sam has a flash of John Winchester and grimaces. Yeah… not trying that one again.

 

 

 

“Goodnight… De.” The name is too familiar, one that little Sammy would call his older brother. It’s not something he thinks he can use when Dean’s so… Little. 

 

 

 

“Come on… Deanie. Let’s get you changed.” Still not right. He’ll keep trying.

 

 

 

“Dean, baby, what are you doing?”

He rushes to pull the plastic spoon—gnawed to hell with however long it’s been in Dean’s mouth—away from him, but it’s not until the words are out of his mouth that he realizes how naturally it slipped out.

 _Dean, baby_.

He likes it.

It’s still strange sometimes to coddle an infant—a grown ass infant that isn’t fragile in the slightest—without a response. Dean’s placid no matter what he does, and he doesn’t take an interest in anything, no matter how much Sam wants him to, even if it’s to yell at him for putting him in a damn onesie and giving him a pacifier to chew on like he some goddamn baby—the words Sam imagines Dean using once he realizes what’s going on.

It’s kind of like a little girl playing with a babydoll, he decides. The doll doesn’t react, but to the little girl it’s real. Well, maybe it’s not like that because Dean is definitely real, and Sam is hoping to get a reaction from Dean one of these days, but the comparison weighs heavily on his mind. Even if Dean isn’t aware _now_ , Sam needs to go on pretending.

So he redoubles his efforts.

Instead of silence when he’s cooking or cleaning, Dean sitting on the couch with his vacant stare, Sam sets him on a floor mat with some toy cars while music plays in the background. Instead of guiding words and touches to get Dean going where he needs to, Sam hits the weights so that he can carry Dean wherever they need to go. Instead of _Dean_ and _man_ and _dude_ —though that last one was rare to begin with—Sam calls him _kiddo_ and _baby_ and _buddy_.

It takes a while, longer than the time Dean spent in Hell, though not as long as the year they waited for his contract to come due, before Sam sees something.

It’s just a flash.

And Sam could easily chalk it up to his own imagination, especially with how much he _wants_ to see Dean come back to him. But when it happens a second time, Sam is up and out of his desk chair, crouching down beside Dean.

“Dean, baby?” It’s just so natural now.

Dean’s creased brow smoothes out, and the vacant stare returns.

It’s a disappointment, sure. Sam can’t deny that. But the small glimpse lets him know that Dean’s on his way back, slowly but surely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that right beneath the "Next Chapter" button, there's this wonderful box where you can leave comments? I know, it's amazing. Makes me happy when people use it. 
> 
> Just FYI.


	5. The Way Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds his way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! A second chapter! Woohoo!

It’s tasteless, but Dean can’t seem to stop. He sucks reflexively on the thing in his mouth, letting creamy liquid slosh down his throat as he tries to remember the last time he’d felt so comfortable.

The warmth around him is a good warmth, and the clothes against his skin are so soft, it’s like wearing a cloud. He opens his eyes and looks up at whoever is holding him, strong arms that wrap tight around him, keeping him together.

_Sammy?_

It’s like a dream when you realize that it’s a dream, one where, even though it’s good, probably the best dream you’ve ever had in your life, it’s still just a dream, and you have to wake up sometime.

He isn’t sure what he expected when he opened his eyes—he’s too comfortable, too _safe_ to question anything really—but whatever it was, this certainly isn’t it.

Sammy’s sitting in a chair, rocking him back and forth slowly, holding Dean’s bottle still, and Dean’s still suckling on it, letting the milk—he knows what it is now, _milk_ —flood his mouth. He wants to spit out the nipple—doesn’t want to really, just knows he’s _supposed_ to—and demand answers.

What the hell does Sam think he’s doing?

Why is there a bottle in his mouth?

Why does he think he might be wearing a diaper?

Why is he rocking on a chair, held in in his brother’s arms, in the middle of a room he’s never seen before, staring at a line of small blue bunnies painted on the ceiling?

But more than anything, _why the hell can’t he move_?

And that’s when Dean realizes he’s trapped. He can’t move a muscle. He’s stuck. Whatever the hell happened to him, he’s stuck this way.

He feels his heart pounding in his chest, the only reaction to the fear that’s flooding him.

He must move or make a noise or breathe wrong or something because as soon as Dean realizes he’s panicking—only on the inside, though, in his mind; his muscles remain limp, letting Sam hold him—the bottle is out of his mouth, and his brother is looking him straight in the eye.

“Dean? Dean, baby. Sammy’s here. I’ve got you.”

_Dean, baby. Mommy’s here. I’ve got you._

For a split second, he sees Mary and a line of blue bunnies devoured by flames.

And then the world disappears.

 

 

 

 

“ _‘I don't want to pick up my clothes,’ Bunny said. ‘I just want to play.’_ ”

The words melt over Dean’s ears. Sam’s voice is softer than he can ever remember it being, like he's trying to make sure Dean stays asleep even though he keeps reading.

Dean doesn't get it, can't understand why Sam’s reading a book about bunnies, especially ones that make a mess before going to sleep, or why he’s still wrapped up in Sam’s arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They’re in a different room this time, sprawled on a couch instead of in a rocking chair, and the position is different also. Before, Dean had been nestled in the crook of his brother’s arm, knees up and over Sam’s legs, cradled. This time, though, his back is to Sam’s chest, and his head lazes over Sam’s shoulder, legs up on the couch, Sam’s coming around him.

It’s strangely comforting.

Not that he’s ever going to admit that to Sam.

Hell no.

But still.

“ _Bunny decided to draw a picture, but he didn’t know what to draw_.”

It isn’t like the last time. This time, Dean _knows_ he’s not dreaming. He remembers things, little glimpses of Sam taking care of him, talking to him, playing with him. This is the first time, though, that he can remember Sam reading to him.

It’s… nice.

He remembers doing this with Sam sometimes when he was little, sitting Sammy on his lap and reading a book from the local library while Sammy sucked his thumb and listened.

He’ll never admit it, but he really likes it this way around. Sitting here, nestled in Sam’s lap is the most safe he’s ever felt in his life.

He keeps his heart steady, keeps his breathing even, doesn’t even try to move—not that he’d be able to if he tried—tries not to let the panic build up again under his skin, anything to keep Sam reading just a little bit longer.

“ _Bunny is tired, but he doesn’t want to go to sleep just yet. He wants to listen to a story first._ ”

Dean can relate.

He yawns a jaw-cracking yawn and nestles back against Sam, lets his eyes droop closed so he can nap.

He feels a brush of lips against his forehead.

“Sleep tight, kiddo.”

 

 

 

 

Everything was just fine before, when he’d woken up to toys and bottles and baths. Those things were perfectly fine with Dean.

Mostly.

But this?

“No.”

“Dean just settle down and let me…”

“No!”

“ _Dean_.”

It’s hard for him to even squeeze out that single word, but he pushes it through with as much force as vehemently possible. “ _Nooooo._ ”

He takes control of his arms and bats Sam’s hands away from him. He tries to sit up, but he can’t get his left arm to work as well as his right, and he ends up rolling off the table onto the floor instead. It hurts. His knee hits the ground wrong, he twists his thumb under his hand, all the air expels from his lungs with the impact, and it’s all too much.

It’s not like a memory, not at all. There’s no retrospection and analysis, a replaying in his mind where he can make different decisions and say different things. It’s alive and it’s real, and Dean’s there again.

It’s like his lungs are trying to choke him, and he can’t breathe. There’s hands on him, hands that only bring pain, _always_ bring pain. There’s nothing else but fear and death. The smell of burnt flesh and blood fills his nostrils every time he’s lucky enough to pull in a breath.

He feels tears pricking at his eyes, and he can’t keep from letting them fall.

But then Sam is pulling him in, holding Dean tight to his chest, and it’s like a salve for his soul. Dean leans into him, clings to his brother.

He’s a grown ass man.

He should be able to do this on his own.

“Dean. Dean, let me help you.”

But he can’t. He really can’t.

“No.” It comes out too shaky, not enough conviction at all.

Sam lifts him up and back onto the table. The first touch of the cold wipe has him flinching, but Sam cleans him quickly and methodically before securing a new diaper around his waist, and Dean just wants to be held like that again, wants to feel _safe_.

It’s too much for him, so he checks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stares forlornly at my inbox*


	6. Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a bath and Sam is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What kind of Little!Dean fic would this be if I didn't include bathtime? Seriously.

The water only comes up to his waist, but it's nice and warm. Dean doesn't remember the last time he had a bath, but he's sure it wasn't like this. No, it definitely wasn’t like this. There was never any bubble bath or bath toys or splashing and smiling. As long as he can remember, it’s only been showers and fast washes with baby wipes or a wet washcloth. He would remember if it had ever been like this.

Sam picks up one of the rubber boats floating amongst the suds in the tub. Dean almost smiles when Sam tries to mimic the sound of an engine as he steers the toy toward Dean.

 _He's insane_ is the first thought that rolls through Dean’s mind, followed quickly by _boats are stupid_ and _that_ is _kinda funny though_.

But then Sam’s booping his nose with the tip of the toy, and Dean can’t help but let out an indignant squeal.

Sam matches his pout with a grin and boops him again, but Dean swats him away. Stupid Sam and his stupid boat. He should know better, really he should. Dean doesn’t care about _boats_.

But the water is so warm around him, and his fingertips are wrinkling like prunes, and Sam is _smiling_ at him like he’s… happy.

How can Sam be so happy?

There’s a lot that Dean can’t remember—a lot that he knows he doesn’t _want_ to remember—but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t remember anything. He knows that Sam’s been taking care of him. Even if he doesn’t know exactly how long, he remembers enough to know that it’s been a while, and he simply doesn’t get it.

Sure, he didn’t really mind taking care of Sam when they were little. It was his job as the older brother. It was what he was supposed to do. But he didn’t take pleasure in it, not like Sam seems to.

Every time Dean wakes up, he sees Sam _happy_.

He didn’t know that Sam could _do_ happy.

But apparently he can. He smiles all the time now, and he looks at Dean like he’s the most important person in the whole world. Dean doesn’t know if he can handle that kind of devotion. He wants to tell Sam to just give up on him, to just dump him somewhere and move on with his life. Dean doesn’t deserve this kind of attention, not from anyone, but especially not from the person he’s let down time and time again.

Sam’s smile disappears at the same time Dean’s chin begins to wobble. He doesn’t want to cry, he really doesn’t, but he can’t help it. He just doesn’t have the control he used to. The first tear falls, and he hopes that he can stop it there like he usually does, but his hope goes unfounded. The first tear opens the floodgates and it doesn’t take long at all before he’s sobbing openly.

“Don’t cry, baby. It’s okay. Sammy’s here. It’s all going to be okay.”

The concern in his voice just makes it all that much worse.

“Let it all out. That’s a good boy.”

And the worst part is that he doesn't even know why he's crying. He just _is_. No matter how much he tells himself to suck it up, bury it deep down where he’s buried everything else, his body won't listen to him. It just keeps crying.

And that just makes him cry more.

“I'm here, baby. Sammy loves you.”

This Sam is different than the one Dean remembers. This Sam runs his fingers through his hair, wipes his tears away, rubs soothing circles onto his back. This Sam _cares_ , and Dean doesn't want him to go away again.

He knows it's only a matter of time, though. Sam can't stay forever. He won't _want_ to stay forever. Pretty soon, Dean is going to find some control and pull himself together, and then Sam is going to change back. He’s going to stop smiling at Dean, caring for Dean, making Dean feel _safe_. They're going to go back to their old life, the one without bathtime and storytime and playtime and Sam looking at Dean like he actually _matters_.

The tears eventually slow down. His breathing evens out and he stops sobbing. A few more tears fall down his cheeks, but Dean’s done for now. He doesn't have the energy to keep going even though he really just feels like crying some more.

“Don't worry, baby,” Sam assures him. “It's all going to be alright.”

Dean sniffles.

“Come on. Let’s get you out of that water.”

Dean’s more than a little shocked when Sam reaches under Dean’s arms and _lifts him out of the tub_. Sam sets him on the toilet, which he realizes is already covered with a towel for him. He lets Sam pat him dry, zoning out a little bit while Sam cares for him, but not sinking deep like he had before.

By the time Dean is dried and dressed, Dean is back in his body, focused on the world around him for the first time in a very long time.

Dean clings to Sam when he picks Dean up and sets him on his waist. It’s a little strained, but Sam seems used to it, so Dean doesn’t protest when they make their way down the hall into the room with the blue bunnies. They both settle in the rocking chair with Dean cradled on Sam’s lap. Dean has so many questions, but Sam beats him to it.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks.

Dean’s head rests just under Sam’s collarbone, back held up by Sam’s arm. His legs drape over Sam’s, and he doesn’t notice until Sam asks that he has a thumb tucked into his mouth while the other fists into Sam’s shirt. He takes the thumb out of his mouth and lets it fall to his chest. It surprises him how much he wants to put it back, but he’s comfortable enough without it, so he nods his head.

“Ok good.”

Sam reaches over to grab something off of the side table, and Dean barely recognizes it before the rubber nipple is in his mouth and he’s sucking milk down like he’s a man dying of thirst.

Sam’s thumb rubs over Dean’s bottom lip, wiping up a bit of spittle, and with a small tap of his feet, they’re rocking.

Dean has so many things he needs to talk to Sam about, so many questions to ask, but he’s exhausted from crying so hard in the tub, and it doesn’t help any that the milk is settling in his stomach, warming him from the inside, or that being nestled into Sam is the most comfortable he’s ever been in his life.

Without wanting to, he falls right asleep.

He doesn’t even finish his bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are three kinds of people in this world: those who kudos, those who comment, and those who are the fucking magnificent rockstars that make my day by clicking that kudos button and then commenting right after. 
> 
> What kind of fucking magnificent rockstar are you?


	7. Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's calm and Sam's confused.

At first, Dean complied out of simple necessity. He wasn't strong enough to protest, and he didn't want a repeat of the Diaper Change Incident to set back the simple progress he's been making. So instead of fighting what Sam and Bobby have been calling The Regression, Dean’s just been going with it.

It's not that he doesn't want to figure all of this out, grow up, get back on the road with his brother, fight the good fight. He does. It’s just so much easier to play along. At least that's what he tells himself.

But it's been two days now, and Dean still can't bring himself to let Sam know he's awake and aware, even though he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's capable of stringing a sentence together with relative ease. He has the basics of motor control down, and from what little voicing he's practiced in his crib at night, he's sure that he won't have any difficulty speaking this time around.

But he doesn't, and he's not sure why. He has so many questions to ask, but then it’s lunchtime or playtime or cuddle time or reading time or naptime, and Dean thinks _just a little bit longer_.

He's mortified come changing time. He feels his cheeks burn up when his body lets loose in his diaper, too used to going when it needs to for him to control it like he should. He wants to hide it, but somehow Sam always knows. He gathers Dean up and wipes him down, and Dean decides that that is most definitely not the time to bring up his consciousness. No, sir.

So he waits just a little bit longer, a little longer, a little more, until two days have passed and Sam opens the door to let Bobby inside and Dean realizes that, no matter how much he secretly enjoys it, he can't stay this way.

“How’s the tyke?” Bobby greets Sam.

“Calm actually,” Sam responds.

Bobby huffs in surprise, but doesn't question further. Instead he turns toward Dean and crouches down to where he and Sam were playing with cars on the floor mat.

And then he does something that makes tears fall from Dean’s eyes.

He ruffles Dean’s hair and kisses his forehead. “Hey, buddy,” Bobby greets.

Dean swears he's done more crying in the last few weeks than he has in his whole life, but he just can't control it. He lets Bobby wrap him in a hug as he pours his eyes out on the man’s shoulder.

As usual, he falls asleep before he has the chance to realize what he's doing.

Sam helps untangle Dean and carries him upstairs to lay him in his crib. He flips on the baby monitor and clips the receiver to his belt on full volume before making his way back to Bobby. He stops in the kitchen to grab a couple of beers from the fridge, and Bobby takes one with a nod of thanks, but neither of them drink.

“How long’s he been like that?”

“About two days.” Sam sighs. “At first I thought he was still a little out of it, maybe having problems controlling himself like he did a few weeks ago with that meltdown, but…” He shrugs. “He’s not even trying to fight it.”

Bobby seems to think for a minute before speaking. “Could be a good thing. Maybe he knows what's good for ‘im.”

Sam shoots Bobby a look. “Since when has Dean ever known what's good for him?”

Bobby concedes the point and takes a sip of his beer. “How’s this. Maybe he don't know what's good for ‘im. Maybe he's just biding his time.”

“Biding time for what?”

Bobby shrugs. “The hell should I know? He's your brother.”

They slip into a companionable silence, nursing their beers. Sam’s got about a third of a bottle left when Bobby speaks again.

“Could be he's tryin’ to hide it.”

“What?”

“Maybe he don't wanna be Big. Maybe he's tryin’ to stay Little for as long as he can ‘til he thinks he can't no more.”

“It's as good a theory as any.”

Bobby chuckles. “You're ‘bout to have a little hellion in the house soon as he figures out we know he's aware. He ain't gonna want none of this caretaker stuff if he think he's gotta be Big. Not even if it kills him.”

Damn.

They always knew Dean was going to fight the regression, that it would take some convincing for Dean to try it their way, just for a bit, until he’s too deep into it to protest. But if Bobby’s right and Dean actually _wants_ to be Little, he's going to fight tooth and nail against it. Sam has no idea what he's going to do when that happens.

“Guess we dug ourselves into a grave with this one.” Bobby chuckles. “Who coulda guessed the boy’d wanna stay?”

Sam chuckles even though his mind is going a mile a minute trying to figure out how to breach the subject with Dean. With how vulnerable Dean is now that he's regressed, the last thing Sam wants to do is traumatize him with discussions about the past and how it affects their future.

Just as he thinks he might have a solid plan of attack, Sam hears whimpering coming from the baby monitor.

“Sorry, Bobby,” he says.

“Don't be sorry, boy. Go get ‘im. I can wait.”

He takes the stairs two at a time and opens the nursery door to a sad sight. Eyes wide open, Dean stares miserably through the bars of his crib, sucking furiously on his thumb while tears pour down his cheeks.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam greets softly.

Bright green eyes fix to his as he goes to pick the little boy up from his crib. Sam’s careful to situate him on his hip before attempting to walk. Even though Dean’s much lighter than he was pre-Hell and Sam’s bulked up a bit to care for Dean post-Hell, Dean is still heavier than the average toddler.

Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s neck and rests his head on Sam’s shoulder, sniffling quietly.

“You have a nightmare, kiddo?”

Dean shudders in his grasp, but he doesn't fight to be let down, so Sam counts it as a win.

“It's ok, Dean, baby. I'll keep you safe.”

He presses his lips to Dean’s hairline. It's a different kind of love than he used to have for his brother. When he was a kid, it was simple hero worship. As he grew, it morphed into friendly companionship. When he left, it was the obligatory love one has for family. This, though… Sam's not sure how to describe it. He thinks it might be love, but it's so interwoven with the urge to protect Dean, the need to care for him, the fear he’ll lose him, that he's not really sure _love_ is the right word after all. It seems too strong of a feeling to be explained with a single word.

“I'll always keep you safe, Dean.”

And he will. There's nothing at this point that can pry his brother from his arms. Even if it means killing a horde of demons with his bare teeth, that's what he'll do. For Dean.

Dean lifts his head to look Sam in the eye, and Sam can see the inner battle Dean’s having with himself, the one that says he needs to stop and grow up and be the Big Brother and take care of Sam, even though he really just wants to stay in Sam’s arms, seeking comfort after a bad dream.

“Sam?”

Dean’s voice is so small, so fragile, that Sam knows he's on the edge right now, in danger of falling right back into his head. Only this time it might be for good.

Sam can't let that happen. “Yeah, baby?” he asks, presses another kiss to Dean’s temple to reassure him that even though he's awake, he can stay Little if he wants to and Sam will still be here.

Dean buries his head in the crevasse between his neck and his shoulder, hiding his face as tears fall unbidden from his eyes.

“Please don't leave me,” he whispers.

The request tightens Sam's throat. “Never,” he chokes out. “No matter what. I promise, baby. Sammy’s here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter will be posted on Sunday. I know, I know. So sad it's ending. Good news: along with the final chapter of this wonderful fic, I'll be posting the fist chapter of the sequel, _Cucuy_ , which has been written as well. Yay! More Little!Dean! 
> 
>  
> 
> You know... when I don't get comments, I resort to crying in the corner. Don't make me cry in the corner.


	8. Raising Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam raises Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter for all of you wonderful readers.

After they sit down and talk some more, just a little bit at a time over the next couple of months, Dean figures out just how badly his time in the pit affected him. It's more than the flashbacks and the nightmares. There's another fear beneath that, one that stems from the time _before_ Hell, one that used to simmer beneath the surface of his skin but is so much worse now than it had ever been.

Sam is okay with Dean being Little though. He's more than okay with it actually. Dean thinks that Sam even _prefers_ when Dean is Little. And Dean prefers it as well.

He likes snuggling up to Sammy for naptime. He likes eating the food Sammy cuts up for him. He likes playing with Sammy in the bath and listening to storytime and drinking his bottle while he falls asleep. He likes all of it really. And if his time in Hell has taught him anything it's that fighting just isn't worth it sometimes.

Well… sometimes it is.

Hell taught him that too.

There are just some things that Dean wants to do on his own. Though Sammy says that he doesn't mind, Dean most certainly _does_. He likes the comfort that comes from Sam caring for him, but there are definitely places where he draws the line.

As in, _there is no way, shape, or form I’m gonna keep letting my little brother change my damn diaper_.

...unless he has an accident, of course.

But Dean’s adamant about using the potty like a big boy. He's been mostly successful in that endeavor, with only a few accidents in the beginning to start him off. He still wears the diaper just in case, but it's been over two weeks since his last accident, so he doesn't think it's going to be much of a problem in the future.

He still tries sometimes to be Big.

Sometimes, he sees himself in the mirror or realizes when he's sucking his thumb or thinks when he's curled up in his crib at night that wanting this isn't _normal_.

So he pulls himself up out of his crib in the morning, slips on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt instead of waiting for Sammy to dress him in a fresh onesie, and makes his way downstairs to fix a cup of coffee and bowl of cereal. He grabs a newspaper and combs the classifieds for a job because if he's going to be Big, he's going to have to start contributing instead of relying on Sam for everything like he has been, he’s going to have to stop being a burden.

The first time it happened, Sam simply stood back and let him. He watched Dean calmly, grabbed a random section of the newspaper and read while Dean searched. They didn't talk about any of it. Sam just waited. It only took an hour for Dean to have a panic attack that sent him retreating into his mind for another week.

Now, Sam is much less lenient.

Dean still tries. Every few weeks he thinks maybe _this time_ will be the time. He doesn't go as far as he did that first time. It's just little things. He asks Sammy not to cut up his food. He refuses his bottles. He insists on a shower instead of a bath. But that's when the nightmares flare up again, the ones that have him sobbing in the middle of the night, begging his brother to never leave him.

Dean’s stubborn, but Sam’s gotten pretty good at keeping Dean Little, even when he wants to be Big.

They're both sure he won't stay this way forever, that there will come a time in the future when he's able to handle the pressures of being Big again without the panic that seems to accompany it. But it's not going to be anytime soon, no matter how hard Dean tries to push.

“Dean Michael Winchester.”

Dean freezes, caught in the act. His arms fall to his sides, and his chin presses against his chest in shame.

“What are you doing out of your crib?”

Dean’s presses his lips together, on the verge of crying.

“Come on. Back in bed. You know the rules. It's late.”

Sam lowers the bars and Dean climbs back into his crib.

Dean pouts. “But I wanna stay up with you.”

“Not tonight, Dean.”

“Please, Daddy?”

They both freeze.

It just slipped out. He swears it just slipped out. He meant to say _Sammy_ and it just slipped out.

Dean’s heart pounds in his chest, his breath hitching like it does when he's about to sob. He didn't mean it. Well, he _did_ , but he doesn't want Sammy to get mad at him, so he's sorry. He's so, so sorry.

Sam’s hands slip under his arms and lift him out of the crib onto his hip, and Dean chances a look through tear-filled eyes. Sam is smiling. He's not mad. He's _smiling_.

“Come on, baby,” Sam says, wiping the tears from Dean’s cheeks. “Daddy wants to cuddle. You wanna cuddle?”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

As they make their way downstairs, Dean lets his head rest easily on his daddy’s shoulder. It's not five minutes later that he's asleep, safe and happy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate comments. *crosses fingers* They're stupid. *secretly loves comments* You should never comment on my works. Ever. *is a liar* I'm serious. *hopes that reverse psychology works in real life* 
> 
> If you want more Little!Dean, don't forget to check out the second work in the Post-Hell Regression series, _Cucuy_ , which has already been posted! Yay!


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